Manflesh
by The Readers Muse
Summary: He wasn't sure which of them looked more surprised when the staff slipped out of the wizard's fingers, Dori or Gandalf himself. Personally he'd been too busy memorizing the pattern of Dori's socks - anything to distract himself from the way his feet were dangling, kicking out into nothingness.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hobbit or any of J. R. R Tolkien's works. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my fourth time dipping my toes into Tolkien's Hobbit/LOTR's universe, so I hugely appreciate any and all feedback/constructive criticism you have to offer. The pairing in this fic is Dwori (Dwalin/Ori) and a tiny bit of Bagginshield if you squint.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for 'The Hobbit' and 'The Desolation of Smaug.' Basically follows the canon events of the first movie up until the Carrock, where instead of Dori losing grip on Gandalf staff, it is Gandalf (meaning the staff falls with Dori and Ori). Expect canon appropriate violence, mature language, minor mention of body image issues, age difference, size difference, characters being adorable little shits, dwarvish courting rituals, magical shenanigans, Gandalf's staff is a troll, semi-established dwori relationship, first time, slash and – oh yeah – smut.

**Manflesh**

_**Chapter One**_

He wasn't sure which of them looked more surprised when the staff slipped out of the wizard's fingers, Dori or Gandalf himself. Personally he'd been too busy memorizing the pattern of Dori's socks - anything to distract himself from the way his feet were dangling, kicking out into nothingness.

_His fingers were slipping. _

_He hoped the others were alright, that Dwalin would-_

He managed to get a glimpse of a weather-beaten face and startled eyes before they fell out of view. Caught off guard when he realized that the light from the burning tree was reflecting queerly, getting caught in the blue of the wizard's eyes and warping the background until he could actually_ see_ Dwalin struggling to pull himself up. _See_ Nori fighting to get Oin and Gloin off a splintering branch just before it-

But before he could really internalize it, before he could puzzle it out and remind himself that, _yes_, this was a wizard he was trying to attach sense to, they were already falling.

Dori yelled, a blurb of sound that could have been his name when his older brother's foot slipped from his hand. The loss sent him tumbling – free-falling through the dark as the wind buffeted them. The rush of air was dead cold and terrifying as they quickly out-paced ember and dust. The battle and burning suddenly far above them, muted by the whistling wind as silence gripped them.

He cried out when something hit his chin, falling _with _them. He grasped it instinctively – like it was the sole anchor floating in a vast sea - holding it tight to his chest as the ground rushed to meet them.

_Gandalf's staff!_

Both he and Dori had their eyes tightly closed when the flash of light issued from the crystal and passed into him. But for those who might have been watching, including all manner of living and breathing things, it soaked into his skin with a soft glow of silver-white. Lighting up the dark the same moment they hit something feathery and alive and then – quite suddenly - they were_ soaring_.

* * *

><p>The eagle that caught them, however, put the odd occurrence out of her mind almost immediately. After all, the affairs of dwarves were of little concern to her. She had a clutch of her own and a nest of younglings to feed. Her mate was a handsome thing and a good provider - bless his tail feathers. But nest-guarding was <em>not<em> his strong-suit.

Besides, for such small things, the stone-dwellers were actually surprisingly heavy.

* * *

><p>He felt a bit odd by the time the Carrock was in their sights. But there wasn't much time to dwell on it considering that before he could fully appreciate the view, they were already circling in for a landing.<p>

He felt strangely numb when they scrambled off the back of the giant eagle, stumbling when his boots met solid rock, limbs tingly and sore. It was almost as though every bone in his body had somehow fallen dead asleep. Refusing to wake even when he hopped about, desperate for the pins and needles to subside.

He gritted his teeth when Dori patted his back reassuringly, static lancing up his sides as he wobbled out of reach. His brother didn't notice, too busy calling to the others as the other eagles soared high above them – waiting for their turn to land as Gandalf grabbed his staff and raced to Thorin's side.

Personally he thought it was more because he'd nearly died about thirty-three times since breakfast and he'd left his heart halfway down a cliff-face than anything – _well_ - else.

In his defense, it _had _been quite the evening after all.

* * *

><p>Thorin had only just embraced Bilbo, recognizing him for his bravery when they saw it. He hadn't been able to hold back his gasp. Erebor was just as beautiful as his brothers had described, a singular lonely peak that rose above a vast valley of green.<p>

_Home. _That was Dori had called it. _Home._

He hadn't been able to get enough of it, _see _enough of it. He wished he had about five more eyes as he squinted with the same eagerness that'd led him to accept Balin's offer that day in his study. Flushing with embarrassment as his mentor had fixed him with a knowing grin, well used to his stuttering as he brought out the contract with a flourish.

The silence from the dwarves around him was poignant – almost ardent in its longing. It pulled at his bones. Digging deep into the very heart of him as something he'd never really noticed he was missing, slotted neatly into place.

_He understood now._

_Erebor was a part of them. _

_Belonged to them._

_Just as surely as they belonged to its ageless rocky depths and ancient soil._

_It was a partnership forged by Mahal himself._

_One to be respected just as much as it was feared._

_For, if the worst indeed came to pass, it seemed abundantly clear that Mahal would not take their failure lightly._

* * *

><p>The mountain was highlighted by an ancient, rolling trail of rock and stone. It was the same trail that hundreds of dwarrow would have traveled daily. Bustling back and forth from the city of Dale for trade, but for some rather bothersome reason, the entire peak was fading in and out of focus.<p>

_Strange._ _Why would-_

Heat flushed through him, skin prickling as he wavered. His boots felt unsteady. Or perhaps it was the rock itself? Were they all in danger? Perhaps the entire cliff was going to come down around them? With the night they'd just had, he figured it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility.

But still, even that didn't seem right.

Something was wrong – different – _twisting._

He could feel it.

_Inside._

He blinked muzzily, staring down at his hands as something inside cracked, popping and twisting as he watched. He held his right hand up to his face, watching with a detached sort of interest as the fingers started lengthening, thinning out at the tips and knuckles as a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.

_Oh, oh…_

A spit of dark hair fluttered across the edge of his vision, illusive when he squinted, trying to put a face to it. "…Ori? You alright?"

The voice permeated through the fog, just over his left shoulder. He shook himself, brain feeling as though it were trying to slog through a vat of pudding before recognition finally dawned. _Kili._

"Thorin! Gandalf!? Something's wrong with Ori!"

His collar tightened, almost choking as he started pulling on it, fighting for breath as someone said something. He felt constricted; like he'd grown too large for his skin and his body was trying it's best to burst clear out.

Dori was there in an instant. "Ori? What is it? You feeling sick? Was it the heights? Oh dear, I knew-"

He opened his mouth to say something only nothing came out. He'd forgotten the words or perhaps even how to speak as his back cracked - _lengthening_. The feeling was similar to a tired stretch after a long day hunched over his writing table. Only it didn't stop. It just kept pulling and stretching and-

"What the-"

He stumbled back into Dori's grip, falling into his brother's chest like he'd done so often as a dwarfling, tripping over his own feet and burying himself into his brother's layers for comfort. He inhaled shakily, drawing in his brother's scent, but it gave him no pleasure – no sense of protection or safety. It was a smell that had never failed to calm him. One he knew above all others. But this time it did nothing – _it meant nothing._

"_Ori?!"_

Kili and Fili parted like molten gold around a smithing hammer as Dwalin said something. He looked up, catching his eye as the taller dwarf approached, pushing his way through the others, fierce and ready to do battle. There was concern there, in the back of his gaze – uncertainty and worry and he felt a stab of guilt at being the cause of it.

He only had the wits left to smile, hoping it would be enough to calm him. To assure the warrior that – _yes – _he was fine and that – _no _– he didn't need a lie down and-

He blinked, finding himself in Dori's arms, looking up blurrily as Thorin, Gandalf and Dwalin's faces swirled around in the air above his head as a sudden, all-encompassing pressure seemed to squeeze the very breath from him.

There was a hand on his face, rough-edged with warriors' callouses and gentle comfort before it was wrenched away just as quickly. He cracked a lid just in time to catch a glimpse of Gandalf reaching forward. A strange rumbling language rippled – spilling through the air above their heads as Bilbo said something, little voice all but trembling with concern as the world blackened – dimming like a guttered candle – just enough to blind them all when the tip of Gandalf's staff flickered into the half-dark.

His fingers dug into the sleeve of Dori's coat, gasping and desperate as he tried to suck air back into shell-shocked lungs.

_He couldn't-_

There was the horrendous sound of tearing cloth.

_He didn't understand why-_

A bit off curse.

_Why?_

A strange, enveloping blackness that seemed to rise from within.

_Dwalin?_

And then, quite thankfully, there was _nothing_.

* * *

><p><span><strong>AN #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – And yes, I laughed myself sick when I thought of this title. It should all make sense soon if you haven't guessed where this is going already. Hopefully it gave you as much of a chuckle as it did with me. The next chapter should be up in a week's time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hobbit or any of J. R. R Tolkien's works. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my fourth time dipping my toes into Tolkien's Hobbit/LOTR's universe, so I hugely appreciate any and all feedback/constructive criticism you have to offer. The pairing in this fic is Dwori (Dwalin/Ori) and a tiny bit of Bagginshield if you squint.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for 'The Hobbit' and 'The Desolation of Smaug.' This is set in an 'everyone lives' style AU. Basically follows canon save for instead of Dori losing grip on Gandalf staff, it is Gandalf instead. Expect canon appropriate violence, mature language, minor mention of body image issues, age difference, size difference, characters being adorable little shits, dwarvish courting rituals, magical shenanigans, Gandalf's staff is a troll, semi-established dwori relationship, first time, slash, and – oh yeah – smut.

**Manflesh**

_**Chapter Two**_

It was the unseasonable chill, more than anything, that woke him.

"In my _personal _experience, incidents with my staff generally work themselves out in due time, Master Dori," Gandalf imparted, voice decidedly strained, like he'd gone over this particular point more than once. Clearly well into some sort of argument as a chorus of muttering nearly overwhelmed the crackling of a nearby fire as supper simmered away.

Though, Dori's well-intentioned bleating certainly wasn't helping matters.

"Generally!?" Dori shrilled, presumably from somewhere in the vicinity of his right hip. Muscles straining against him in such a way that he could practically picture his brother craning his neck, jabbing and huffing in order to give the wizard a proper tongue lashing.

He blinked – eyes slitting open grudgingly – adjusting to the mid-day light as the shadowy forest canopy took shape above him. He held back a yawn, fussing a bit as he let his eyes flutter shut. He didn't remember falling asleep but clearly someone had forgotten to tell Dori and Gandalf it was bedtime. Because frankly, there simply wasn't any other explanation he could think of for-

"Now Dori, try and see sense," Balin cautioned, using the same calming tone he'd used the first day of his apprenticeship when he'd managed to overturn his ink bottle all over a rare second edition of the private life of Durin the Deathless. "This is just an unhappy accident. I am sure Gandalf can put things to rights in time."

His lashes fluttered, fanning across the hollows as he stirred, unable to hold back a whine when a jolt of soreness arced through him. _No, something wasn't right._ He peeked through half-opened eyes and nearly whimpered when the thick leafy green of a cheerful forest canopy greeted him.

_He didn't remember a forest. Not one that wasn't on fire anyway._

_The last thing he remembered was the Carrock and Dwalin and-_

"But he's a-a-_man_! For Mahal's sake! How is this even possible? How can we be sure that Ori is still even-"

He squeezed his eyes closed, blinking quickly, but the landscape refused to change. All he got was a glimpse of gnarled trunks and a couple different pairs of trousers – Bifur, Balin, maybe even Oin - spinning around him in lazy, off-centred circles as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing.

_Mahal, he felt like he'd gotten hit with one of Dwalin's war hammers!_

"Not just any man. Good heavens, calm yourself and look at his face! This is no impostor or changeling switch, Master Ri. This is your brother. Or, at least, who your brother would have been if he'd been born into the race of men," Gandalf returned, unquestionably sharp this time as he succeeded in cutting Dori off mid-tirade.

He closed his eyes, feeling a strange sort of lightness in his limbs as his head throbbed in time with what felt like every muscle in his body. _Mahal, how he ached! _Had he fallen? He must have.

_Oh, how embarrassing!_

They must have carried him all the way down. He bit his lip, fretting as Dori's words from before they left the Blue Mountains pierced sharp through the confusion. He'd accepted his mentor's invitation for the quest without consulting him. He'd been too excited to take the chance that Dori would refuse to let him leave. And with good reason, Dori had been furious with him. It had taken Nori almost two days to calm him down and make him see reason. But not before he'd suffered the brunt of his brother's temper.

He hadn't received such a sound tongue-lashing since he'd been a dwarfling. And it was certainly a memory he didn't relish. For all his brother's politeness and manners, he could be downright frightful when he set his mind to it.

He frowned. Because while a certain part of his reasoning rang true, he knew that wasn't the whole of it. He forced heavy lids open, fighting a frustrated groan as someone jostled the sore muscles along his side, trying to shake off the last vestiges of fog that clung – stubborn – in the back of his mind.

_They'd been on the Carrock, the Lonely Mountain in their sights. Dori had been yelling, holding him up as Fili and Kili whirled around. Twin flares of concerned blond and black as the silhouettes of the departing eagles vanished into the background. _

_He remembered being unable to catch his breath. Feeling the weight of what felt like a half the gold in Erebor crushing his chest as he watched his hand shiver and twist. Dwalin had been there, that much he was certain of. Worry and concern flooding handsome features as they'd met eyes through the crush. _

_Gandalf had been standing over him, murmuring something in a language he didn't recognize, the jeweled head of his staff flaring to life as-_

His eyes flew open as awareness returned in a rush.

"D-Dori?"

* * *

><p>He jerked up, muscles screaming, elbows digging into the dirt as the others stilled above him. Eerily quiet and fidgeting as they closed the protective circle around him. Any other time it would have calmed him. But today it only served to remind him how wrong it was. How strange he felt. How-<p>

"Dor-" he stammered, cutting himself off and slapping a hand across his mouth when he realized that what_ sounded_ like his voice was actually different. Like the tone and pitch were off only slightly, just enough for him to register the strangeness of it as Oin sank down on his haunches, trying to get him to lay back down.

_Only he was having none of it._

His brother was at his side in a blink, as soothing as a den mother and as spitting mad as a hen with a clutch of missing eggs. A sound accompaniment to Nori who was already snapping at the others to give them some space as he flailed around, trying to get a good look at himself.

He sucked in a shaky breath, letting go of a confused whine when he realized he was naked from the waist down. His heart hiccuped in his throat, feeling the twitch of unfamiliar muscles when he realized he barely recognized himself. His teeth clacked together, shivering and on the verge of losing it completely as wide eyes stared uncomprehendingly.

_And who could blame him? Especially given the figure he cut! He was practically on level with the trees!_ All lean legs and the curl of a decidedly delicate looking hip poking out of the bed roll - Bombur's by the look of it – that'd been wrapped around his waist to cover his nakedness.

But that wasn't all.

That wasn't even the_ worst_ of it.

He squeaked, running his hands down his face as he wrenched himself upright. Accidentally unseating Nori, Oin and Dwalin like they were nothing more than balls of yarn on his lap, weighty but unexpectedly easy to move now that his weight was so strangely spread out.

His nose, his hands, beard, mouth, hair – e_verything!_

For a long moment he felt as awkward as a dwarfling. Uncoordinated and slightly unhinged as he flailed around, trying to get his bearings. The forest canopy stuttered, staining the air above his head in a violent blur of green and tan. Everything else felt distant as he wobbled in place, bare toes clenching at the dirt and undergrowth like by sheer force he could anchor himself down.

He panted, struggling for breath as half a dozen hands tugged and pulled, familiar voices echoing tinnily, like metal ringing down a distant mine-shaft as a whole host of conflicting signals – brain and body suddenly at odds with one another, ill-timed and horribly out of sync – screamed through him like dragon's fire.

"Breathe, Ori! Before you pass out! There's a lad!" Bofur encouraged, ear flaps whizzing back and forth, trying to shore him up on his left as Dori took the right.

He stumbled, blinking as he reared up.

_High._

For a long moment that was all that registered.

_It was high. Too high._

His arms wind-milled, cutting through the air above even Dwalin's head as the world whirled around him in a rush.

_Oh Mahal. Oh dear. Oh-_

His hands clenched together, pressing the heels against his eyes like he could scrub out what his senses were telling him.

_High, high, high, high… Oh, far too high!_

He wasn't ashamed to admit that he let go of an involuntary whimper as he swayed. Eyes level with Gandalf's hat for a tremulous half second before he fell forward, legs giving out underneath him.

He hit the dirt with a bone-rattling thud, arms splayed out in front of him - taut belly in the dirt - as the others crowded around. Pulling up the blanket that had slipped clear off his hips, leaving nothing but an endless span of freckles and a light dusting of tawny auburn hair.

_Mahal's mercy! He was a- a- _

"I am sorry, my dear Ori. But it appears that in rescuing my staff, we seem to have run into a small problem," Gandalf remarked, breaking the silence with an apologetic smile, the hem of his robes ghosting across tightly clenched knuckles as he dug his fingers firmly into the dirt. Trying to ground himself as his stomach did somersaults, churning and upset as his brothers pressed close – carding their hands through short hair and generally trying to smother him with well-meant comfort.

"Small!" Dori shrilled, beard puffing in affront. "You call_ this_ a _small _problem!?"

* * *

><p><span><strong>AN #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – I am so glad so many of you have shown interest in this story despite how utterly ridiculous it is! I hope I can continue to enthrall and titillate! Stay tuned for the next chapter!

**Reference:** In case anyone missed the cues, human!ori is basically Adam Brown, the real life actor that plays him. So, think Adam Brown without his 'dwarvish features' if you are trying to get a handle on what human!ori looks like.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hobbit or any of J. R. R Tolkien's works. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my fifth time dipping my toes into Tolkien's Hobbit/LOTR's universe, so I hugely appreciate any and all feedback/constructive criticism you have to offer. The pairing in this fic is Dwori (Dwalin/Ori) and a tiny bit of Bagginshield if you squint.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for 'The Hobbit' and 'The Desolation of Smaug.' This is set in an 'everyone lives' style AU. Basically follows canon save for instead of Dori losing grip on Gandalf staff, it is Gandalf instead. Expect canon appropriate violence, mature language, minor mention of body image issues, age difference, size difference, characters being adorable little shits, dwarvish courting rituals, magical shenanigans, Gandalf's staff is a troll, semi-established relationship, first time, slash, and – oh yeah – smut.

**Manflesh**

_**Chapter Three**_

He sat on the ground and fretted as the conversation raged overhead. Fielding off Dori's clutching and Dwalin's rather intrusive way of hovering without actually trying to hover. Attempting to sort out what had changed and what had remained more or less the same as Bombur retreated to the stew-pot, riling the others into near conniptions as they debated sending Bifur back into the forest to snare another rabbit for supper.

He looked down at the pile of shredded clothes that had been shoved off to the side. Ruined beyond salvaging or even temporary repair. Off to his right Dori shifted, apologetic even though he had no reason to be. Trying and failing to get used to the sight of long legs, only lightly furred, poking out in front of him, seeming to stretch clear to sunrise.

"I'm alright," he murmured, unsure of who he was trying to convince. Dwalin, his brothers, or himself as he stared at his palms, uncalloused and almost delicately smooth as Thorin shoved his way to the front, the hobbit practically on his heels.

"Is there truly nothing that can be done for him?" Thorin asked, looking down at him – gentle yet strong – with an expression he'd only seen a handful of times. One that made him sure, as sure as the mountain that smouldered within, that if he could, his King would have gladly taken his place.

The sincerity behind the look was so strong he had to look away, flushing and embarrassed as an uncertain blush stained clear down his nape and beyond. Coloring what felt like _yards_ of creamy pale, only serving to highlight the dusky trail of freckles as it went.

He flattened his tongue across the back of his teeth, working his jaw from side to side as he tried to get used to the feel. Everything felt so- well, _odd_. Even just sitting, arse to dirt, somehow felt remarkably different. He was used to the weight of his limbs keeping him grounded. He'd never noticed it before, but they had a certain density his man-form seemed to lack. It felt like something close to weightlessness, or how he'd always imagined the world would feel to an elf. Liable to just _float _away come a strong northerly breeze.

"Unfortunately, I believe that in this case, it would be safest to let this particular magic run its course. Now that I've determined it's temporary," Gandalf assured him, muted amusement dancing in the back of his eyes as he looked from him, to Dwalin, then back to Thorin in quick succession. "Anything I do now could lengthen the spell or worse-"

"But he is so…" Nori started.

"Beardless," Gloin winced.

"Tall!" Fili and Kili parroted, nearly whipping each other in the face with their braids as they shoved close. Sounding more excited than horrified. Eyes lighting up with a look he recognized well from his childhood in the Blue Mountains. _Mischief._

"Skruff…umgi," Bifur grunted, making them all nod, tugging at their beards in sympathy as he squeaked in horror, fingers rasping across nothing but the barest pebbling of stubble.

_He'd been born with more hair on his cheeks than this! _

"Thin," Dori echoed glumly, expression hinging on horrified disbelief as he summoned up his courage and smacked his brother's hand away from pinching a lightly furred calf. In no mood to be poked and prodded as Kili danced within range and blew a stream of cold air across the back of his neck.

"I mean, the gangly limbs alone…"

"I'll say, the poor lad doesn't have a scrap of meat on him!" Bombur nearly wailed, echoing the others' rising distress as Fili smacked his brother upside the head, falling head first into some sort of disagreement as the words "hairless" and "gigantic" were tossed about like a smattering of poorly fletched arrows.

"I think you look quite lovely, Ori," Bilbo spoke up earnestly, eliciting a chorus of groans from the others. Clearly trying to make him feel better as he squeezed between Oin and Bofur, smiling encouragingly.

"Aye," Balin imparted, thick brows furrowing as he peered down at him. "And he looks a might young on top of it."

"Exactly how young are we discussing?" Dori frowned, face screwing up in worry and suspicion. "It is so hard to tell with men-folk. Some don't choose to wear a beard at all. Why, I had a customer once, never said where he was from as I recall, with a lovely flowing red beard that curled clear under his chin. Next time he visited he'd shorn the entire thing off! And for no reason! I have never seen anything like it, such a shame!"

Gandalf huffed as the others murmured in dismay, patting at his pockets for his pipe and looking quite done for before Bilbo shook out a packet of Old Toby and set about packing the wizard's pipe for him.

"Considering how men age, I'd say no more than thirty at most," the wizard concluded with serene aplomb, looking about for a place to sit as Bombur dropped the soup ladle back in the pot with a deafening clang.

"Thirty!?" Dwalin roared, speaking up for the first time since the conversation started, nearly drowning out the chorus of gasps as everything seemed to devolve from there.

"He shouldn't be out of his family's caves at that age!" Gloin trumpeted, rumbling under his breath about men-folk, dwarrowlings and propriety in general as Oin hrumped in agreement, trying to count out his pulse before giving up with a curse.

"I will have you know, the thirties is a perfectly respectable age for a hobbit," Bilbo pointed out, apparently dead set on smoothing things over as Thorin's gaze sharpened, looking over at the hobbit with a veiled expression.

"Thirty-three in fact, is generally the year our families celebrate our 'coming of age,'" Bilbo continued, fiddling with the drooping tatters of his breast-coat. "The feasts are stuff of legend," he remarked dreamily.

"Besides, we all know men age differently than dwarves and hobbits. From what the Underhills and Mugworts say, the men-folk of Bree are often swimming in babes and well-versed in the trade of their fathers long before most hobbits are out of their tweens."

"Yes…yes," Gandalf puffed, exhaling a lungful of smoke with careful delicacy. Raising his voice to be heard above the din as the others grumbled, muttering amongst themselves in a manner that made it clear they were not so easily convinced.

"That being said, Master Ori is only a man in appearance. This is temporary after all. I see no reason why the quest shouldn't press on come day-break."

His expression must have said it all, because Gandalf looked down at him kindly. Something which, by itself, was only blessedly familiar because he was still sitting down. Not quite able to stop his brain from wandering when he considered the fact that if he ever got up the nerve to try standing again, he'd likely be only a few inches shy of the wizard's floppy grey hat.

He dug his hands firmly into the grass. Fighting a sudden burst of unease as the observation made him dizzy all over again. _How did men-folk stand it?! Being so far away from the protection of stone and cloven ground?!_

"Consider this a first-hand opportunity to understand menfolk, Master Ori," Gandalf hummed breezily, inspecting his staff with a critical eye before leaning down and patting his shoulder. Huffing under his breath about dwarven stubbornness and the general unreliable nature of the world when there was not enough pipe-weed readily on hand.

As one might expect, the thought was of remarkably little comfort.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Reference:<strong> In case anyone missed the cues, human!ori is basically Adam Brown, the real life actor that plays him. So think Adam Brown without his 'dwarvish features' if you are trying to get a handle on what human!ori looks like.

Translations from Khuzdul to English:

_Skruff _- Scrawny beard (considered a terrible insult but in the case of Bifur and the situation I am meaning it to come across as more of a descriptor. Something to highlight not only just how different Ori looks, but how horrible Bifur and the other's consider the state of his beard when in human form.)

_Umgi _– Human/s.

• Age issues/references:

- From what I can tell, the dwarven age of maturity is said to be around 40 years. In the case of this story, we know that Ori's real age is well beyond that, so even in human form (in both respects) he is well above the age of consent. I thought it would be interesting to use Adam Brown's actual approximate age in the story as well as his appearance. Also, it is fun to delve into cultural issues, as I would assume that a mere 30 years of age for a dwarf would be considered quite young indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hobbit or any of J. R. R Tolkien's works. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my fifth time dipping my toes into Tolkien's Hobbit/LOTR's universe, so I hugely appreciate any and all feedback/constructive criticism you have to offer. The pairing in this fic is Dwori (Dwalin/Ori) and a tiny bit of Bagginshield if you squint.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for 'The Hobbit' and 'The Desolation of Smaug.' This is set in an 'everyone lives' style AU. Basically follows canon save for instead of Dori losing grip on Gandalf staff, it is Gandalf instead. Expect canon appropriate violence, mature language, minor mention of body image issues, age difference, size difference, characters being adorable little shits, dwarvish courting rituals, magical shenanigans, Gandalf's staff is a troll, semi-established relationship, first time, slash, and – oh yeah – smut.

**Manflesh**

_**Chapter Four**_

Unfortunately for him, despite being on edge for the slightest tingle - anything that would indicate that his indignity was coming to an end - the evening carried on in much the same fashion.

The matter of clothing was dealt with quickly and with remarkably little fuss. Gandalf lent him a tunic and a thin pair of pants, careful to sandwich some clean underthings between them lest the embarrassed flush that'd taken up residence on his cheeks became permanent.

Thankfully, Bombur wouldn't hear of returning his blanket – being as it was the largest swath of material they had amongst them – even going so far as to provide a rather handsome emerald pin to fasten the ends together so it stayed wrapped around his shoulders like a makeshift cloak.

He stepped out of the tatters of his clothes and pulled them on awkwardly. Feeling the weight of the other's stares as a corner of the blanket slipped down while he shrugged into the shirt, revealing a thin line of copper red hairs that arrowed down towards his groin. Stomach lean and lightly toned in a way that made him miss the handsome - if not slight - roundness that had once decorated his hips.

He couldn't blame them for it either, because while the color and the smattering of freckles were clearly his, everything else was not. Even Kili, lean as he was for a dwarf, had a certain stockiness to him, a solidity that this form lacked. He frowned, fussing with the laces of his jerkin as he tensed, thin thighs quivering underneath the blanket as someone cleared their throat, startling the others into suspicious activity as Dori handed him the borrowed trousers and patted his hand encouragingly.

It was altogether queer for a dwarf to be so willowy, more buoy than anchor. Dwarves were thick bones and strong skin and constitutions that had no fear of the deep mountain dark, nor the comforting closeness it provided. But this? _Mahal._ Now he had no idea where he might fit in.

_Why, one would think him an elf if not for the lack of pointy ears!_

Even when he'd finished with the pants and stuffed his shredded clothing in to pack the space of his now too large boots. He wasn't ashamed to say that despite the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he'd never felt so exposed in his life.

* * *

><p>He sat down hard, wincing as his arse - an area that was now far bonier than it had any right to be - throbbed at the rough treatment. And like he had from a young age, his hand darted up to twist one of his braids for comfort only to glide through short hair and startle himself all over again.<p>

His expression fell, fidgeting slightly as uncalloused human hands ran over the mere shadow of stubble on his cheeks and neck. Watching with a distinct pout as Bofur and Bifur sorted through the dry kindling he and Nori had managed to scrounge up from forest edge.

_He felt positivity naked!_

Attempting to distract himself, he unbuckled his pack and poked around half-heartedly for his journal. Maybe Gandalf was right. Perhaps such information would be of interest to the elder scribes when he next had a chance to meet with them. It couldn't hurt to scribble down a few thoughts on the matter, he supposed.

He'd only just fished out his ink well when he stopped short, nails catching on a piece of shredded wool as a bolt of shame shuddered through him. He made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat as he pulled out the tattered remains of the fingerless gloves Dwalin had presented him only a few days before.

It had been a undeniably bold gesture, especially considering the shade of puce Dori had turned when Dwalin came up to him on their last night in Rivendell. He'd hardly known what to do with himself when he realized what was happening, caught off guard when Dwalin joined him on a balcony and shoved the fur-wrapped bundle into his chest. Muttering about sloppy cross-stitches and meddling older brothers as Balin sent them a twinkling grin from his place on a bench a few yards away.

_He'd never dreamed that his affections might be returned! Never in his wildest imaginings!_

It was a firm answer – one of acceptance no less - to the courting gift he'd summoned up the courage to offer not long after the incident with the Trolls that'd nearly seen the lot of them trussed up like roast pheasants on Durin's Day. Taking a rather large chance that his affections might be returned as he'd colored in embarrassment and stuttered through the traditional words before practically fleeing to the safety of his older brothers as close to half the company hooted in glee. Smiling indulgently at the new development as more than a few purses exchanged owners.

For, as he'd later found out, his admiration for the older dwarf had been a topic of discussion ever since Hobbiton. Apparently he had to learn how to be less transparent when it came to such things. It was either that or try and box Kili and Fili's ears for being so insufferably nosy.

He plucked at the torn wool morosely, smoothing the knotted brown and green strands. He knew the warrior had worked so hard on them. Having even gone so far as to stitch a shaky Durin's key across the knuckles. Something which had delighted him to no end. Too pleased and relieved to be embarrassed as a passing group of elves peered over at them curiously.

He'd exchanged his worn mittens for Dwalin's right away and had worn them proudly ever since.

He looked up, ignoring the hushed voices of Thorin and Balin deep in conversation by the fire. Hoping to catch sight of his dwarf and convey, well, _something _of his feelings - seeking affirmation that the warrior wasn't cross with him – but despite the closeness of dinner, Dwalin was nowhere to be seen.

And honestly, that only made him feel that much more out of sorts.

* * *

><p>He examined his face in Dori's looking glass after the evening meal. Frowning and making faces as unfamiliar planes of flesh stretched and pulled across high cheekbones. It was akin to seeing his reflection in a pool of rippling water, some moment there was an uncanny burst of recognition and others where he might as well have been looking into the eyes of a stranger.<p>

Everything about him had been altered, _stretched._

It wasn't even that he was unused to the sight of men. Dori had done enough trading with them over the years. It was more that he was unused to seeing his face attached to one. He snuck a look over to where Dwalin was sitting by the fire, missing the protection of his fringe almost immediately when Dwalin returned his stare. Brooding and dark as he paused in the act of taking his grindstone to the sharp of his axe.

He looked away like he'd been burnt. Cursing himself and his ill timing as the irony of his situation was not lost on him. Because the truth was, the indignity he could take. Being the youngest and the butt of Fili and Kili's practical jokes more than once, it wasn't like he was lacking the practice. Only this wasn't really about the indignity, was it? Not beyond the surface anyway.

_It was about Dwalin._

_More specifically, him and Dwalin._

He sighed, half tempted to just turn in early as he considered his predicament. Because at the end of the day, this entire affair wouldn't have been so much of a problem if he hadn't gone and done something rather unwise, like, well, _fall in love_.

_Mahal! He didn't know how he was going to ever face Dwalin again._ _Not like this, certainly. All thin and gawky and distressingly hairless. There was absolutely nothing attractive about that. No matter what Bilbo said. He was sure he was a fright to behold! The hobbit was just being kind. After all, hobbits were-_

But before he could work himself up any further, Bofur plucked the looking glass clear out of his hands, expression genial but firm.

"No use dwelling, laddie," Bofur counselled. "What's done is done," the dwarf remarked, looking him up and down before flashing him a grin and extending his hand, practically pulling him up when his much larger palm engulfed that of his friend's.

"Now, as I remember it, you have somethin' of a talent for singin'."

It took a few verses and more than one well-placed elbow from Bofur and Fili before he gave in and joined the others in song. And while his voice was certainly sweeter – going reedy and thin on more than one of the high notes - it was still strong.

And as Bilbo hummed, tapping a hairy foot in time beside him, he figured that at least that was something.

* * *

><p>He nearly choked on his tongue when he finally worked up the nerve to relieve himself a few hours later.<p>

He let out a strangled sound, almost knocking himself right in the jewels trying to stuff it back into his trousers in shock. He probably looked like a wanton, what with his pants pooled around his ankles, slumped against the nearest tree, all wide-eyed and a trembling lower lip. But in truth he was still trying to pick up his jaw from the dirt.

_His prick was bloody huge!_

For a long moment he just stared, slack jawed. He had no idea what was normal for men-folk, but it was _far_ longer than his own – if not rather thin – with a rightish curve that seemed odd considering that dwarvish members tended to stay stocky and straight. He wondered what that said of one's constitution when one race was oft to stay bullish, jutting and proud while men-folk seemed to stick with a theme that was all length and angles.

He bit his lip, sneaking another look. Marveling a bit as he drew back the foreskin and examined himself curiously. For some reason it was not as off-putting as he thought it'd be. He curled his toes in his boots thoughtfully, thumbing down the length of it as a shiver that had very little to do with the cold lilted through him. Maybe he was just getting used to it, what with the strange things seeming to get piled on top of one another lately. But for now, his imagination appeared dead set on getting the better of him.

He held the base, giving it a firm, yet hesitant squeeze.

_Oooh, that felt nice. _

He wondered if-

"Ori? You alright?" Dori called, tone tight like he was expecting the worst as the sound of footfalls hesitantly approached where he'd nipped off into the treeline. "I thought I heard-"

His hands jumped away like he'd been clipped with the blunt edge of an arrow tip. Nearly choking on the breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding as he yanked his trousers up and retreated a few meters deeper into the forest. Waddling as his full bladder twinged in reminder.

"I'm fine Dori, leave off!" he yelped, cheeks burning in embarrassment as his prick visibly wilted at the idea of anyone coming across him like that. "I'll be back in a minute."

He rolled his eyes when the sound of Dori's huffing carried through the trees.

He supposed he'd have time enough for…_exploration _later.

* * *

><p><span><strong>AN #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – I am working ahead in the story and hope to have it cap out around 7-8 chapters. We'll see! Stay tuned for the next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hobbit or any of J. R. R Tolkien's works. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my fifth time dipping my toes into Tolkien's Hobbit/LOTR's universe, so I hugely appreciate any and all feedback/constructive criticism you have to offer. The pairing in this fic is Dwori (Dwalin/Ori) and a tiny bit of Bagginshield if you squint.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for 'The Hobbit' and 'The Desolation of Smaug.' This is set in an 'everyone lives' style AU. Basically follows canon save for instead of Dori losing grip on Gandalf staff, it is Gandalf instead. Expect canon appropriate violence, mature language, minor mention of body image issues, age difference, size difference, characters being adorable little shits, dwarvish courting rituals, magical shenanigans, Gandalf's staff is a troll, semi-established relationship, first time, slash, and – oh yeah – smut.

**Manflesh**

_**Chapter Five**_

He was up well before dawn the next day, lost in a tangle of nerves and a disarming sense of foreboding as he faced the horizon with sleep-crusted eyes. He didn't need to seek out a mirror to know his appearance was the same. The ache in his long limbs from the cramped position he'd slept in was enough to tell him otherwise.

He blinked sleepily, holding back his sigh, as he watched the others slumber on beside the coal-lit fire. Automatically finding Dwalin in the half-light, still wrapped up in his furs, barrel-chest rising and falling. And despite the fact that he knew it was silly, he allowed himself a moment to wonder what it would be like to slip in beside him, a steady counterpoint to the warrior's bulk. If he was lucky when all of this was over, he'd have the chance to find out.

_If Dwalin still wanted him that is._

He stretched, feeling unfamiliar joints creak and crack as the others snored on. Trying to ignore some of his more depressing thoughts as Dori shifted beside him. Ever the worrier as his brother's hand found the flare of a pant leg and grasped it tightly.

It seemed like the others were in a similar state, clearly exhausted by the events of the past few days. _Why, even Gandalf appeared to be sleeping!_ Bombur and Bofur were together alongside Oin and Gloin, close enough that Bombur wouldn't suffer the lack of warmth without his bedroll. Fili and Kili were huddled together, almost overshadowed by that of their Uncle, as Thorin slept on – deep and seemingly without trouble – Bilbo curled innocently at his side.

A thin brow arched at that. _Funny, he'd thought Bilbo had set up his bedroll beside Bofur the night before?_

He waited until the absolute last minute – too warm and contented to move – before he finally squirmed out of his bedroll, untangling himself from Dori and Nori in favor of making a bee line for the trees. Staggering slightly as thin fingers made short work of the fasteners on the front of his pants, full bladder making itself painfully known as Bifur chuckled from his spot on watch, waving him past.

And while it was a small comfort, he couldn't help but marvel on the hardiness of menfolk's bladders. For the amount of stew he'd eaten the night before had nearly rivaled that of Bilbo himself.

* * *

><p>By the time he returned, at least half the company was awake, groaning and muttering as Bifur cheerfully poked at the mess of limbs that marked where Bofur was still clinging to sleep by a thread. He grinned, watching with no small amusement as Bombur rolled over and took all the blankets with him, eliciting a chorus of indignant sounds as Oin and Gloin popped out from the center of the pile, braids-ends fuzzing in clear affront.<p>

He picked his way back to his sleeping brothers. Sitting down on a stump just out of range as Nori stirred. It was only a moment - a slight widening of the eyes and a sudden downturn of the lips when Nori cracked a lid - but it was enough to sour his mood and bring him plummeting back to earth. Reminded, in perhaps the worst way possible, that the skin he was wearing was not his own.

He looked away, fiddling with the ends of his blanket. Willing his expression to settle as Nori mastered himself and bid him good morning. But the damage had been done.

_His own brother looked at him like he was a stranger._

_And Dwalin seemed to be going out of his way to avoid him since everything had happened._

He wasn't sure which realization hurt worse.

* * *

><p>He watched the others tend to their beards and braids, grooming out the night's tangles, with something close to a pout. His beard had only just started grow in, finally losing the patchy coarseness of youth in favour of soft strands that one could actually tame and braid.<p>

_Well, almost._

_He'd been getting there._

He'd been so proud when it'd first started coming in. Staring at his reflection eagerly as Dori nattered on about 'late boomers' and family traits. Wondering out loud if he'd take after their mother whose red hair had darkened to a handsome chestnut brown when she'd reached her second hundred.

He shivered on reflex – more out of habit than anything – as Fili and Kili dug their chins deeper into their furs as the morning dawned cold. For while he certainly missed the security and comfort of his usual layers, the truth was, he was actually quite comfortable.

Before now he'd never understood how Gandalf and Bilbo could wear so little. In fact, he'd remarked more than once that he hadn't felt properly warm since their night at Bag End. Coping instead by knitting himself a thicker scarf and a fur-lined undershirt as the days had stretched into weeks and he'd shown no sign of adjusting.

And yet, here he was, bare armed and shirt unlaced, quite comfortable indeed!

It was a queer feeling, welcoming the crisp mountain breeze on his skin. A stark difference from the perpetual chill since they'd left hearth and home in Eres Lund. The air, even now, seemed mild to him, blissful even. Whereas Dori was already stomping in his boots trying to warm up.

His fingers twitched, longing to grab his pen and jot down a few observations.

It was clear that one of the many differences between menfolk and dwarves was a certain heartiness when it came to colder temperatures. He supposed it shouldn't have been much of a surprise. Dwarves were cave dwellers by nature, at home amongst fire-bright forges and the natural warmth of the mountains.

But then again, dwarves where also hardy folk. _Perhaps it was simply the weather that was the cause of their discomfort? _They'd been forced to travel light and had lost most of what they'd brought with them in the Goblin caves. They were going to have to replenish their supplies and soon. Otherwise they probably wouldn't even make it to Laketown.

He was roosted from his thoughts rather firmly when Dori sat down beside him and started undoing his braids, trading combs with Nori as his middle brother attempted to fasten a silver bead to the end of a hard to reach braid.

He shook his head letting whatever remained of his ill-thoughts wither and die as Dori hummed under his breath, peaceable and calm as the sounds and smells of a quick breakfast wafted through the morning-haze.

_All this was temporary, after all._

_He just had to be patient._

And with that thought in mind, he turned around and nudged his brother's hand out of the way, attaching the bead and tying the braid off easily as Nori grunted his thanks. Nodding as he took up his brother's comb and busied himself with a task he knew better than breathing.

"Here Nori, let me."

* * *

><p>As it turned out, immersing himself in the ritual of retying his brother's braids was strangely cathartic. For one part it soothed the sting still smoldering – coal-lit and angry – deep in the back of his chest. Reminding him of better times as memories of Dori teaching him how to tie his first rose and fell in the back of his mind's eye.<p>

He'd helped his brothers with this task more times than he could count. Braiding was more a family tradition that an inherent trait. Each family braid was different, its uniqueness held in high esteem, the more noble and ancient the line, the more intricate the pattern. It was something every dwarf knew better than breathing. Coming more naturally to them than even the grip of a smelting hammer nestled in their palms.

As for the rest, well, he found out quite by accident that his human hands, with their delicate fingers and soft callouses, were far more adept than he was used to when it came to braiding.

Indeed, even Nori looked in awe at the complex braid that resulted, after he'd finished their usual family one – weaved in nearly half the time – in favor of something a bit more imaginative. It was more for decoration than anything, letting his mind do as it willed as he gradually got used to navigating the hair around his thin, but surprisingly nimble fingers.

A smug smile tugged at the corners of his lips as Dori leaned close, cooing appreciatively at the complex, spaced-out loops between the beads as Nori craned his neck, angling a looking glass in an effort to see for himself. He just huffed under his breath, trying not to look too pleased when his older brother – who was notoriously fussy about such things - promptly sat down next to him to wait for his turn.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he tied off the last part, patting Nori off as Dori slid across the log to take his place. Sensing out of the corner of his eye that he was being watched – curiously and perhaps even a bit enviously by the others.

_After all, he supposed that if Mahal had seen reason to make him suffer, it couldn't hurt to make use of the few unexpected benefits that came along with it. _

_Either way, it wasn't like it could get much worse than this, could it?_

* * *

><p><span><strong>AN #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Stay tuned for the next chapter!


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